If the hours of life are fleeting
by xLaramiex
Summary: James Hathaway meets a man who makes him question a lot about himself. Winds through the last episode of the last series.


_A/N: I must express my undying gratitude to my friend and beta/editor Rae, without whom this probably would not be finished, never mind understandable._

* * *

_Lewis: Are you gay?_

_Hathaway: What does that mean?_

_Lewis: You know what that means._

_Hathaway: What, that there's boys and girls and a nice neat straight line down the middle? And, gay's if you like shoes and musicals and straight's if you read Loaded and eat Yorkie bars?_

* * *

"Do you mind if I sit here? It's so busy this morning!"

Jolted out of his thoughts, Hathaway glanced up at the stranger, then around the packed café which was his usual before-work haunt. He put on an unconvincing smile. "Go ahead."

After his forced meeting with Innocent the night before, he had hoped the coffee and the noisy café would squeeze out his annoyance with Lewis. It had not worked yet - he could still feel the slow burn of frustration tingling in his fingers - but he had not given up hope. He knew, after all, that Lewis was genuinely trying to help. Sergeant-to-Inspector was far from an unusual career pathway; in fact, it was rather the point of the partnership.

"Thanks." The man met his eyes and smiled back with more feeling than James had mustered. He settled himself into the chair opposite James, who was already staring at his cardboard cup. "I'm Anthony. Sorry for invading your table like this, it seems everyone in Oxford is out today."

"James Hathaway. It's not a problem, honestly."

Anthony was a fairly tall man, though perhaps shorter than James. He had close-cropped dark hair, dark brown skin, broad cheekbones and a short around-the-mouth beard. "Hi, James," he said with a smile that seemed to make his eyes sparkle. "So what do you do?"

"I'm, er… currently a police sergeant. Murder squad."

"You don't sound so sure."

"Well, maybe not," James conceded, tipping his head as a slight smile crept onto his lips. He looked at Anthony properly for the first time and was struck by the rich brown colour of his eyes. "I've been thinking of quitting. I'm getting… cynical, I suppose."

"I would have thought that's part of the job."

"Oh, it is. That's exactly the problem."

"You'd rather be naïve and in denial?"

"Well, no, I just… I feel like I'm running in vain, trying to run damage control when I'm just falling further behind. I wanted to do good but I don't feel that I'm doing anything…" He stopped, embarrassed. "Sorry, you don't need to hear this."

Anthony's hand raised as though he would reach out, but he curbed the motion and took hold of his drink instead. "If the hours of life are fleeting, let those hours be well employed. Working, resting, parting, meeting, Life was given to be enjoyed. And the enjoyment that is meetest, In this life's vicissitude, Best, and holiest, and sweetest, Is the bliss of doing good."

James' pupils dilated as a ball of excitement formed at the base of his ribcage.

Anthony, oblivious to the effect he was having, smiled sheepishly. "Sorry. I read English, at Oxford. It creeps up on me sometimes."

It was the exact opposite of a problem, but James did not know how to explain that so he said simply, "John Bowring."

"You know him?" Anthony asked, leaning forwards.

"A little. So, English?" His attention was focused firmly on Anthony now.

"Yeah. I'm a painter now, though. I've sold a few artworks but I guess my day job is painting houses."

"Wow."

"Not quite as exciting as catching murderers!"

"No less important," James replied sincerely.

Anthony licked his lips. "Look, I've got to go now but I really enjoyed talking to you. Do you want to meet up some time?"

Everything stopped for a beat; the noise of the café faded out and then came rushing back in as James thought _Am I being asked out?_

"Um, sure," he said, surprising himself. He entered his number in the phone Anthony held out. _Well_, James justified to himself, _he probably just means as friends._

He wasn't sure how to explain the disappointment he felt at that thought.

Too full of nervous energy to sit still, James ordered another coffee to-go and left for work early.

* * *

Thoughts of his encounter with the stranger played idly on James' mind as he searched for his phone in the school later that day. He sang under his breath, cheerful for once. Until he found Adam's body.

* * *

James sat in his living room, reading. Or, more accurately, staring sightlessly at the words and wrestling with his conscience.

He could not stop thinking about trying to pray earlier that evening, and finding silence. Nothing but the thoughts in his own head, echoing. People always talked about finding religion at difficult times, or at important junctions of their life. He seemed to have lost it completely.

When his phone rang around 7 o'clock, it was an unusual enough occurrence that it made him start. With a sigh, he stood up, located his phone and received the unknown number.

"Hathaway."

"Um hi - James. It's Anthony here. I was wondering if you want to meet up tonight."

James sank back into his chair, rubbing the beginnings of a headache. "Look, I genuinely am pleased to hear from you, Anthony, but I've had a really long day and I'm not going to be very good company."

"Not even to take your mind off things?"

Despite himself, James smiled a little. "Who says there's anything to take my mind off?"

"I can hear it in your voice. You sound like you're being sat on by an elephant."

James chuckled at the mental image. "How about a walk?" he suggested.

"Sounds great. We could meet at South Park in about half an hour."

"Okay. See you soon." James put the phone down slowly. Then he pushed himself into action: had a quick shower, changed his shirt twice, brushed his teeth, pulled on worn jeans and hurried out the door with his heart pounding, telling himself firmly that he wasn't nervous.

The light was starting to wane as James reached the entrance of the park, leeching the colour from the grass and giving the trees a greyish, washed-out appearance. The short walk had calmed him a little. He found Anthony sitting at the top of the slope, his back to James' approach and a sketchpad on his knees.

"Looks good," James said, his hand finding Anthony's shoulder as he looked at the rough lines which were nonetheless unmistakably the sunlit buildings in front of them. Every window was aglow.

Anthony looked up with a smile, and stood up as he spoke. "James. Thank you. I was thinking of making it a watercolour but I rather like it in pencil, what do you think?"

"I think there was a reason I didn't do art in school."

Anthony chuckled as he closed the pad and tucked it under his arm, and they set off at an ambling pace. "You don't fancy yourself as an art critic then?"

"God, no. I can barely draw a straight line with a ruler, how can I criticise someone else?"

"You don't have to be good at something to recognise when someone else is," Anthony pointed out. "So what are you good at?" he added, nudging him.

"Erm… Maybe it's a cliché but I like playing guitar."

"But are you _good_ at it?" he teased.

"Not bad."

"Don't listen to me, you don't have to be good at it. How long have you been playing?"

"Oh, forever. I was in a band once."

"Yeah?"

"We were terrible."

Anthony snorted. "Somehow that always happens." He gave James a sideways glance, a mischievous grin in his eyes. "Forgotten your cigarettes?"

"What makes you say that?"

"You've gone for your pocket about four times."

"Sorry. I always want to smoke more when I'm -" _nervous_.

"When you're what?"

"Never mind."

But the slight lift at the corner of Anthony's mouth made James sure that he had guessed his unspoken sentiment. Getting flustered, James decided to change the subject.

"So what do you like to paint?"

"I'm a fan of buildings. Oxford has a lot of great buildings, churches and so on. Street scenes, too. Have you seen those candid photos people do? I do that sort of thing but speed-sketching or painting of the impressions of the people in their environment."

"Sounds great," James replied. "I'd like to see them."

Anthony looked pleased "I'm glad you think so." He shot James a glance before fixing his gaze on the path ahead. "I showed an ex-boyfriend a 3-minute speed-sketch of the inside of the Pitt Rivers museum and all he said was it wasn't very detailed!"

James could not help but laugh at his obvious indignation. "No culture, that man. I hope you dumped him."

Anthony appeared to be attempting to wrestle a smile into submission. James politely pretended not to notice Anthony's apparent relief at his reaction.

"I did, actually," Anthony replied. "He didn't like Star Trek."

"Oh, you're a fan?"

"Of course! Who isn't?"

"Weell…"

"You're _not_ telling me you don't like Star Trek? You, sir, are a disappointment."

"I've actually never seen it."

Anthony actually stopped walking and stared at James with exaggerated horror. "You've _never_…? I don't even know how you've managed to avoid it, but we must remedy that immediately. I prescribe a course of one film, to be taken tomorrow night at my house."

James replied with mock sternness, "Well if my _doctor_ suggests it, how can I refuse?"

Anthony gave that eye-twinkling smile. "Exactly. I'll text you the details."

* * *

He intended to go, he really did. As James sat with Lewis in the pub the next day, his mind drifted between the dead Soo-Min, Adam and Seager, and the oh-so-alive Anthony.

Then Lewis ruined it. "We should go back to the office. You didn't have any plans for tonight, did you?"

James frowned on his way out, and surreptitiously texted Anthony from the car.

'_I'm sorry Anthony, I have to work tonight. Can we meet tomorrow instead?'_

* * *

The next day, as promised, James rang the bell for Anthony at the shared front door of his flat. James saw that the window boxes were weed-free and the strip of lawn around the driveway was recently mowed. When Anthony let him in with a smile, the interior followed the same pattern; though small, everything was clean and tidy (and of course, perfectly painted).

Anthony made tea and they went into the living room, the narrowness of which made James suspect it had once been part of the kitchen. Warm afternoon sun shone through the window until Anthony shut the dark blue curtains to reduce the glare on the TV.

"You'll love it," Anthony promised as he fed the DVD into the TV. Then he added, "On pain of death."

"Well I wouldn't want to disappoint you. You'd probably never speak to me again."

"Exactly," Anthony replied, grinning.

James handed Anthony his cup of tea as Anthony sat down next to him, then watched his new friend skip through the adverts.

At one point Anthony shot him a look out of the corner of his eye and said, "I hope you're more attentive when the film starts."

James said nothing, but he could feel the blush on his cheeks as he turned back to the screen.

"I don't really mind," Anthony added quietly, briefly touching James' knee with the back of his hand. He left his arm between them so James, trying to seem casual - almost accidental - pressed his own arm against Anthony's, the backs of their hands together.

Part of James was buoyed up with excitement; another part wondered what on earth he was doing.

He did not _mean_ to appear so… eager? Yet it felt so natural. As though he was watching someone who had known Anthony a lot longer interact with him; smile, laugh, joke and talk with him. With a similar sense of slight detachment, he watched the urge to rest his head on Anthony's shoulder rise as the film went on.

About half an hour in, Anthony paused the film, turned to James and without preamble said seriously. "James, um, I'm picking up some signals but I'm not sure if I'm reading you right. Are we friends or is there something else here?"

James stared down at his hands, frowning, and rather taken aback. "Well… we are definitely friends."

Anthony ducked his head to see James' face. "Dare I hope there's a 'but' there?"

"I… I don't know," James admitted.

Anthony considered him. "You've not done this before, have you?"

"No."

"I see."

James let his eyes travel over Anthony's face, trying to assess his own feelings objectively. He was aware, even as he did so, that this was impossible. Anthony was still watching him impassively as he looked at his short hair, the smooth skin of his cheeks, the slight nicks telling of a swift shave.

Something must have shown in his eyes because Anthony said, "Do you… want to try?"

"I don't want to hurt you if I'm just… confused or… lonely or something."

"But do you want to try?"

James barely paused. "Yes."

Anthony's eyes softened. "Can I kiss you now?"

"Yes."

Anthony leant in and kissed him softly, slowly. It was both more and less than James had thought; it was not fireworks and butterflies but it did make him slightly lightheaded and set a swelling feeling in his chest.

"Okay?" Anthony murmured, still just inches away.

James gave him a chaste kiss by way of answer, and when Anthony moved away James saw that he was smiling. He seemed to be suppressing just how big it was.

They went back to the TV, and after a few minutes Anthony took hold of James' hand. James found the rest of the film much harder to pay attention to.

* * *

After closing the Seager case and spending a week questioning his feelings, sexuality, and life, the universe and everything, James decided it was time to call in the cavalry. He and Anthony had been texting almost every day and shared a phone call on one occasion, though Anthony seemed to be waiting for him to make the next move, and now James needed to ask the question: "Do you think it's possible to think you're straight all your life and then suddenly realise you might not be?" He had arranged to meet someone in the periphery of his limited friend group, among whom she had the casual reputation as a sort of wisewoman of sexual knowledge. Which was how he found himself in a coffee shop with Jenny.

Jenny nodded, not seeming taken-aback by the question in the slightest. "I assumed I was straight until I was twenty-three, then wished I was for five years. Trust me, don't waste your time trying to pretend you're something you're not." She smiled sympathetically at his worried frown. "God doesn't make mistakes, James. You don't need to worry about that. However He made you is exactly how you should be." She narrowed her eyes at him. "What's brought this on, anyway?"

"I met this man, just over a week ago. And he… I like him, he's attractive and funny… I never thought of myself as gay. I've always dated women."

"Gay and straight aren't the only options, you know. And even within that there's a lot of leeway. My friend's bisexual, gender doesn't matter to her in terms of who she can find attractive or fall in love with. And some people are just straight with an exception, or gay unless the person's got really nice eyes. Sexuality's a pretty weird beast."

James leant back on his chair, stared up at the ceiling and sighed.

* * *

"Hi Anthony, it's James Hathaway. I don't know why I said that, it'll be on your voicemail. Anyway I wondered if you wanted to meet me at the park later? We still need to figure out exactly how that universal translator works."

An hour later, a reply text:

'_Sounds great. This job's going to be late, see you at 7? (Am I allowed to end with xs yet? Tough I'm doing it.) x'_

* * *

As they met at the park entrance, the light was all but gone. Only the boxy wooden benches were lit from the streetlights above, bathed in a pool of orange light which spilled over onto the grass surrounding them.

"It's weird being in the park at night. I feel like someone's going to come in and tell us off."

"You're a police officer," Anthony pointed out, sounding amused. "You'd be the one doing the telling off."

"I feel like a teenager."

"Good!" Anthony declared, throwing his arms wide. "Everyone should have a bit of childish fun once in a while. Good for the soul." He stared upwards for a few moments. "Come look at the stars with me," he said, lying on the ground as far from a pair of streetlights as he could. Seeing James hesitate he said, "Ahh, come on."

"This is my favourite jacket."

"Lob it on the bench."

"You're being childish."

"And you are being boring," Anthony countered, reaching up to loosely grip James' hand and wrist with a challenge in his eyes.

James let the sparks flow from the cool dry fingerpads on his skin. "Alright." He broke the contact to deposit his jacket on the bench before lying next to Anthony and looking up at the scant handful of scars that could be seen from inconveniently urban Oxford.

"We're such a teenage cliche right now," James said, though he could not help but soak up the calm from a quiet park, seemingly eternal starlight, and Anthony.

"Nice though," Anthony replied serenely.

"Yeah."

_Will would have liked this,_ James thought. Grass tickling the back of his neck, nothing but the distant roar of traffic in his ears, a - a handsome man by his side. Will, poor Will who had tried so hard to squash his love. He would have liked to have been here, calm and peaceful today.

And suddenly, to his mortification, James was sobbing. He rolled over and curled into himself, hoping Anthony would not notice that his friend - date - was weeping at his side. But in the midst of a pain that seemed to consume everything, Anthony laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"You okay?" he asked quietly, though he clearly knew James was not. He waited patiently while James' heart tore in two, his thumb slowly stroking his shoulder in an attempt to soothe him.

James tried to stop, wiping a hand ineffectually at his leaking eyes. "There's something I need to tell you," he murmured at last, his voice shaking. He sat up. "But it might make you despise me."

"Even more reason to tell me, I'd think," Anthony replied, frowning.

"I used to know this wonderful man, who was gay," James began. His voice became flat as he continued. "He came out to me when we were fourteen, and because I was a…" He punched the ground in frustration. "*fricking idiot. I laughed at him. I didn't see him for ages, he found this man he loved and was happy with him, I went off to train as a priest and then one day, I saw him again. He asked me if God would hate him for being gay. And I told him that what he was doing was wrong."

Anthony continued frowning at him silently. He didn't look impressed, but he did not interrupt.

James felt the tears start again, and his voice broke as he started speaking again. "Will killed himself, because of what I said that day. He went back to a group that told him he was wrong and had to change, and he killed himself. Because I, surrounded by people who thought just like me, was convinced by their belief that being gay was wrong." He scratched at the earth with his thumbnail, unable to look Anthony in the eye. "I gave up the priesthood after that, when I started doubting them, doubting my own convictions. Now it… it feels wrong to be here happy with you when Will can never have this, because of what I said that day."

There was silence for a long moment. Disjointed thoughts floated through James' mind; he was going to have to wash this shirt. A small spider scuttled across the ground in front of his hand.

"When I was fourteen," Anthony said. "My mum told me that 'having gay thoughts' was God's punishment for people who sinned as children."

James stared at him, horrified.

Anthony continued, "Last year she went to Pride on her own and handed out supportive messages. People change, James. As long as..."

"What?"

"As long as you _have_ changed? You're not secretly trying to convert me or something are you?"

James gazed at him for a moment, his eyes softening. "All I want to do with you right now is kiss you."

* * *

It was a fortnight after James had handed in his resignation. To celebrate the solving of their last case together (not that they needed an excuse), Lewis and Hathaway went for a pint. James had been wondering how to tell his now-ex-boss about his new partner, finding himself staring vacantly into space even more than usual.

They sat out in the garden, and James lit a cigarette, smoking it quickly.

"I've met someone," he said abruptly, watching the end glow.

Robbie put down his pint with raised eyebrows. "Oh yeah?"

"Yes."

"Well, I'm glad. It's about time you found someone. What's she called?"

James took a final drag on his cigarette and threw it away, half-finished. "She's… not a she, it's a man, Anthony, I'm… dating a man."

"Oh…" Robbie, when James dared a glance at him, looked politely shocked. He already wished he had kept the cigarette. "I thought you weren't… you know, batting for the other side."

"I'm not," James replied, his eyes fixed on his glass. He straightened his spine, unconsciously adopting a defiant posture. His discomfort made his voice sound clipped. "I believe the term is 'bisexual', though I'm not sure it is in my case. It's more like an exception. Or maybe I'm only just discovering myself."

"Oh, right. But he… he makes you happy though, right?"

A smile crept across James' face, in part at his old boss's reaction and in part at the thought of Anthony. "Yes. He really does."

"Congratulations. I've been saying for years you need a partner. What's he like?"

James struggled for the words, taking a drink to stall. A woman he would have called beautiful, or lovely, but he didn't know how to describe a man in this context. "He's an artist," he said at last. "He studied English at Oxford, planning to be a professor, then went on to paint."

"Sounds perfect," Robbie said with a hint of laughter in his voice.

"What?" James demanded.

"Trust you to find the artist who's also an intellectual!" he replied, chuckling. "Wait, is that why you've been edgy the last couple of days? Were you worried about telling me?"

James hesitated, but although he had avoidance down to a fine art he wasn't in the habit of lying, so he went for honesty. "Yes."

"Well, I can't pretend to understand, but you know how I feel about it. It doesn't matter to me." He adopted a gently mocking tone as he quoted back what James had once said to him: "'Just because I'm uncomfortable with it doesn't make it wrong.' I'll try to get my 'ead round it. Don't forget, I wasn't brought up in the church. I'm probably more open-minded than you are."

James huffed a laugh. "You won't tell Laura, will you?"

"Not if you don't want me to. I'm sure she'll be happy for you as well though, you know." They drank in silence for a few more minutes. "How long have you known him, then?"

"About a month. Feels like longer. He's just… so fearless about life." He tapped his fingers on the table with nervous energy. "He's a good man."

Robbie smiled. "I wouldn't have expected anything less."


End file.
